For the Heart
by LadySkarlettofSkaro
Summary: A series of drabbles with multiple situations and several pairings. Ratings will vary depending on the drabble. Latest chapter- DenNor
1. NiChu- Untitled

**Drabble 1 of a lot :3**

**I tried not to be too mysterious with the plot and what not. And yeah. I don't own anything but a few headcanons here and there.**

**Also, in this one, there is no "aru" or cute dorky accents because they're talking in their native language.**

**Enjoy :)**

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"Yao... Where have you been?"

The question hung in the air, not needing to go any further explaining it than he already had. It was a simple question that needed a simple answer, and it was clear by the glare in Kiku's eyes that he was not happy with him. The younger nation rarely got angry, but when he did, it was like a fire, blazing and surrounding you and embedding burn marks into your skin each time you moved towards it to escape. Yao had seen it, more when he was younger and more war-crazy. Ever since 1945, however, he hadn't seen a single bit of anger flood from him.

"I was busy," Yao replied, already regretting the reaction he'll receive to such a frivolous answer.

"Busy?" Kiku, in a light blue, almost periwinkle, yukata he wore, crossed his arms and stood straighter. It was a habit that he had had since he was a child; it used to mean that he was trying to act tough to whoever was older or taller than he was. Nowadays, it often meant that he was not happy, and if he was taking it serious, then the same applied to you.

"It's a long story, Kiku. It is difficult to explain."

"I'm sure you can tell me. You can tell me anything now, _shì_?"

Yao sighed, looking away guiltily. He had only been with Kiku until 1949, before Ivan found and took him away, unbeknownst to the still very weak island. The last they saw each other was the signing of the NPT, and even then, they hardly saw each other besides the signing, and now, 1972, five years after they had last seen one another without any other nations with them, whether it was Alfred or Arthur or Ivan or Ludwig. The older nation could clearly see the hurt evident on Kiku's face, but he refused to focus on it- for the moment.

"When I woke up 1949, 29th of August, you were nowhere in my home, and you were not on my land. You left me. Four years after Hiroshima and Nagasaki and you left me to recover on my own." Kiku paused, probably to let the other put in his input, but Yao had nothing to say in return. "There was no note, no belongings of yours, no remnants that you had even been in my house. If I had known I wouldn't have seen you until nineteen years later, I would not have been angry, but because there was no warning, I am disgusted."

"Kiku, let me-"

"Iie!" Kiku stepped closer so that their noses touched, chocolate burning into gold with a fury that he hadn't witnessed in a long time. "You were not attacked by atomic weapons that burned you and could have killed you! I am still suffering from my wounds and it is 1972! The only help I had was from Asa and Arufureddo, but I did not want the occasional assistance that they gave me. I wanted _you_ by my side, I wanted _you_ to help me, I wanted _you_ to fix my wounds...I wanted _you_ to fix me! I did not want to live anymore if I knew that two cities would forever be marred by this horror, that they would forever be damaged and that they would never be the same again. I tried to end my life, even though I knew it would never happen; I wanted to see if I could pass out and never wake up from the dreaded nightmare that I was living, because I did not have you by my side-"

Yao didn't know when he had the strength or audacity, and he thought that he had only imagined the idea, but the resounding smack of palm to cheek was evidence enough that he had slapped him.

"Don't you ever hurt yourself, Kiku," Yao whispered. He could see the shock and alarm that Kiku had for the action. Neither of them had wanted it, neither of them expected it, but it had occurred, and they had to deal with the repercussions now. "If you try, it will only bring you pain. It will only add onto the pain that you have." He took the younger's hands in his, running his fingers over the bandages. As he pushed up the unusually long sleeves- yukata sleeves for males were smaller- he could see more scars. Kiku tried to pull them back, but Yao turned his own arms so that Kiku was feeling his own self-harm. "I have done it too. It is not fun. It hurts. It is not what you want to deal with. We are nations, Kiku; we live by our people. And no matter how hard we try to want it to be different, things will never be like that for us... So...we must try and drive away the pain from the help of those that are around us, and are there for us and understand us because there is no one who understands a nation better than another nation."

"Yao..."

They might not have been on the same page as Japan and China, and they might not ever be after Nanking and their dark history afterwards, but underneath the Japanese cherry blossoms, with their hands holding his wounds and their tears following similar paths and their arms entwining him into a warm embrace of tea and rice and bamboo, with their words whispering apologies that were soft in volume yet strong in meaning, they knew that, as Kiku and Yao, as devoted friends, as lovers, as companions, they would definitely, eventually, soon, be alright.


	2. GerIta- Grazke

**For the 74th anniversary of the Pact of Steel pinky swear :)**

**Enjoy!**

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The sound of rain falling upon Berlin from above ground brought down a weary feel upon Ludwig, drearier than usual. After he had moved out of his parents' house to an apartment that his grandfather had bought for him, his life had consisted of nothing but work and eat and sleep. He had a degree in business from the Berlin School of Economics and Law, and as soon as he had finished, he had gotten his first internship in one of the biggest business corporations in the German capital. Besides the fact that he had to take metro to get there, it was a very enjoyable experience so far after almost two years of waiting.

Ludwig looked up from the paper he was reading when he heard a babble of German and what was most likely Italian, garbled as words jumped from either language. Not far away from here, there was a middle-aged German woman and the other male, the latter frantically helping the other pick up some fallen papers and books. She wasn't saying anything, but he wouldn't stop apologizing and flipping from German to Italian and asking what she spoke. It was pitiful to watch, yet amusing at the same time. Ludwig snorted at the sight, yet found himself unable to look away from the sight. He didn't know if it was the amusement in the way the Italian begged for her not to kill him because "German women are scary and tougher than I am but they have nice breasts" or if it was the fact that the male was stumbling backwards off the platform.

Quickly thinking, the German male lunged forward and grasped the Italian's suit. A screech of fear ripped from the other male's throat as they stepped back, the train finally pulling in and coming to a stop. Ludwig stood in silence, the brunet beside him panting and looking from the train to the blond.

"Grazke," he said softly, stumbling over his words as his eyes widened at what he had done. "Err, _danke_, _es tut mir_, uhh..._est tut_, um"

"_Va bene_," he assured the other, picking up his newspaper which he had dropped before.

The Italian's eyes only seemed to become bigger. "Oh! You speak Italian!"

Ludwig nodded. His parents had made sure that he knew at least five languages, aside from his native language, fluently. "I taught myself at home and from my grandfather."

"Oooh...it's so rare to find Italian speakers in Germany, I mean, there are probably a ton of them but they aren't nice to me sometimes because I bump into them and they drop their stuff and then I feel bad because I forget German words sometimes and when I try to hug them to apologize, they look at me like I'm being too loud and walk away and then I feel guilty but at least your food tastes great-"

"What are you doing here?" Ludwig intervened, gazing at the other in confusion. He was speaking too fast for him to understand it properly. Italians were always too excited and hyper for him.

The little Italian smiled and laughed before fishing a rugged piece of paper out of his pocket. "When I was a little boy, _nonno_ used to take me to Berlin and play with someone that I haven't seen since then. I'm going to meet him at his work and surprise him."

As Ludwig gazed at the paper, he realized that the name of the person the Italian to find was himself. Ludwig. He looked back up at the shorter and recognized the hair curl and wide eyes and little giggle. He remembers them playing games and painting and when he had to move back to Berlin, but he remembers the hair curl, and the way he moved his hands. Ludwig remembers falling in love at such a young age with this face, Feliciano, of course, Feliciano, but he had always believed that Feliciano was Felicia. Felicia was the girl that still visited him at night, the person that brought away his sadness and showed him the light that was bright and gentle and made him smile. Felicia was the girl that had given him a broom and a candlestick, along with a jar of tomato sauce "for the pasta".

Felicia, however, was never Felicia. She was he; she was Feliciano.

Their transportation had already boarded and was leaving the station; the Italian frowned after it as it left. "Eheh, well...I can always catch the next one," he smiled. "Ludwig will be happy to see me either way."

"Ja...he will." Ludwig found himself unable to reply with any other words than this. He was still under the shock that his little friend was, in fact, male...and that he didn't have an issue with that. "He is."

Before Feliciano could even question what he meant, he found himself connecting his lips with the Italian, found himself delving into the smell of garlic and pasta and onions, the feel of his skin and the texture of his hair the same from their childhood. The kiss was too short, and his urge to talk to him more was too large, and he broke away before pulling Feliciano with him, the shorter babbling in joy and tears, speaking of how relieved he was to have found him after so many years. Ludwig decided then that he wasn't going to go into work today. He was busy with more important things than hearing about business this and that all day; better yet, he had an Italian to "grazke" for never forgetting him.


	3. Alfred- Missing

**I'm just gonna leave this here for your feelings to break. Yeah.**

**I have some tissues if you need them. **

**Enjoy.**

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Alfred had gotten up before anyone else to practice walking on his own. His knees were still in pain every now and again, but he found that the more he walked on his own, the less guilt that he carried and the more that he eased the pain away. He still wasn't used to walking once again, but he finds it easier now than when he was a few weeks ago. Everything felt new and fresh to him, as if he had a new body minus the knees. Lately, everyone had been assisting him with getting comfortable with his legs again. Arthur and Matthew were always the last two to sleep because they wanted to care for their lover and brother respectfully.

All the American knew was that he was asleep for a very long time, he was in New York, and he was not allowed to open the blinds. There were two windows in his room, one giving him a view from one side of the city and another. He had asked everyone what had happened outside, why he wasn't allowed, and no one ever gave him an answer, opting for changing the subject instead. He wanted to know why this had happened, but no one was giving him a response. Even his brother and Arthur weren't telling him anything. One look outside the forbidden window, as he called it, wouldn't hurt anyone...

He "woke up" his leg muscles, had them used to holding his weight up or walking. He still had a limp in his step, much less severe than before, but he knew that it would leave in a week or two, when he was fully healed. Alfred slid his glasses on, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the view, and then proceeded slowly to the window that he had been forbidden to look through. The other nations were still sleeping, probably still exhausted from watching over him. Even though nations could prevent sleep for as long as they wanted, they slept longer than usual when they're finally able to. At first, he pauses to rub his kneecaps, which had started to suddenly burn, along with his left side. He winced at the searing agony that ran through him, but nonetheless ignored it and opened the blinds.

Alfred stared ahead towards the Hudson, where he could see Lady Liberty standing tall and proud, yet inside of him, there was a terrible pain that ripped through his heart and body, and shook his spine. There was a rather large empty space where something should have been, something tall and beautiful and remarkable and it, for some reason, dropped his mood down so low that his legs trembled. Tears pricked at his eyes and he did not know why. He let out a quiet sob at the sight of something lost and he did not know why. His green statue looked more solemn than usual, and to him, even though she was just a statue, he could see that she did not like the sight.

For some reason, he had wanted to fall to his knees and let out another sob, let out more tears, let himself be engulfed by trembling hands that belonged to him. His heart panged, his stomach lurched, his vision blurred, his body burned, his lungs screamed for air, his vision clogged from water, smoke, dust. He felt death itself close around him and claw into his side, burning and bringing him down on a mental spiral. The American leaned forward, arms still encasing his abdomen, and he cried because he did not know what was missing, and whatever was missing was no longer there, and it killed him inside.

"I'm so sorry."

Another pair of arms embraced him, and he could feel water drop in his hair and on his hands, shoulders, back. He brought in the scent of tea and it melded with the smell of burning wood, papers, flesh, metal, before pushing it away. Emerald eyes filled his vision instead of people dying and disappearing and begging and crying. Warmth and comfort and understanding and love shrouded him and smothered the pain of fire and cement and steel. The pain in his knees remained, and his side dulled down slightly, but he was with his lover of fifteen years, someone who had been there for him even when they hated his guts. That pain was there, he could feel it in his heart and in his bones to his core. But the adoration and love that his lover and brother and friends and citizens held for him was stronger than that suffering.


End file.
